by Tasha Hart
It’s amazing how quickly things can go back to normal after an incident. All the other tables have already returned to whatever conversations they were having before, and all my championship fighting goes by without so much as a clap. As much as they had been cheering me, I half expected applause.
“Are you going to be okay?” I turn around to find my quiet buddy standing there watching me. For whatever reason, he didn’t head out with those other three charmers who sat at his table.
“I’ll be just fine,” I say. After a second with neither of us quite knowing what to do, I gesture to the tray I on the table. “Still feel like that Screaming Orgasm? It’s already on your tab, and I hate to waste one.”
He just waves his hand at it. “Some other time. I’m not really in the mood for a drink at the moment.”
“Funny. I’d love one.”
Four
Logan
This woman has composure for days. And one hell of a right hook to back it up. Looking at the mess we left of our table, I feel even smaller when I think about her having to clean it all.
“If you need a drink, why not treat yourself to that Screaming Orgasm.”
“You know what? Yeah.” I’m pretty sure it’s meant to be sipped, but she tips the glass back until it comes up with nothing but ice. To be honest, I’m more than a little impressed.
“You look like you needed that.”
“Wouldn’t you?” That eyebrow cocks up again, and those hazel eyes remind me why I hung around. We made a real scene, and I feel like somebody had to try to put things to rights.
“Look, I’m horrified by the way my colleagues acted in here.”
“You ought to be.” She’s not giving any quarter. “If I had friends like that…” She shakes her head, curls bouncing.
“Those guys aren’t my friends,” I cut her off. “And, I can tell you this, when Tyler wakes up tomorrow morning, he’s going to find himself out of a job.”
“Is that so?”
“Count on it. I made full partner earlier this year, and that guy is nowhere close. After the other partners hear about him groping you, he won’t be able to get a job as a typist for any firm in the city. That kid is done.” That was more of a speech than I intended to make, but I’m pretty worked up. And she can see it on me.
“You sure you don’t want one of these?” She gestures to the tray of unclaimed drinks, and suddenly, one of those bourbons is calling my name.
“Actually, yeah.” I snap one of them and fire it back. It burns all the way down, but my hand is shaking a bit less when I put the glass on the table. “Look,” I say, “I really just stuck around to say I’m sorry. For all of us. Tyler was the worst, but all of us were pretty bad.”
“I don’t remember you making any snide remarks.” She’s giving me a bit of slack, but, for some reason, I don’t feel like taking it.
“Maybe not out loud, but I was looking just as hard as the rest of them.” Her eyes go wide, and I feel like I’ve really stepped in it. “The point is, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of thing.” Pulling out my wallet, I drop a hundred on the tray.
“Hold on, I’ll get Patrice to ring up the check.”
“Oh, I’m heading over to pay the check now. That’s for you.” Her jaw drops, and my heart thumps like crazy as I leave her standing there. What the hell kind of move was that, anyway? Not that the money is so much, but it feels pretty badass all the same.
“Hey,” I say when I land at the bar. The woman behind it folds her arms and looks at me like she’s wondering what the hell I’m still doing here. Does this place only hire the most gorgeous women in the city? Even angry, she’s a vision.
“I’m sorry, man. Your table has been cut off.”
“No, my table has been thrown out. I just wanted to cover the check.” That softens her resolve a bit, and she rings it out at the register. Taking a glance at the total before giving her my card, I make a promise to get Tyler to pony up for the full tab before we cut his sorry ass loose.
Leaving another healthy tip on the card, an impulse strikes me, and I go for it. “Say, I don’t suppose you could tear me off a strip of that paper, could you?”
The bartender may not be completely over our shit, but she runs out a length from the register and hands it to me. I try to thank her, but she’s already heading off to the far end of the bar. Whether it’s to pour a drink, or get away from me, either is totally fair.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I scrawl my phone number on the paper and walk back toward the gorgeous woman stuck with the task of cleaning up our mess. If my heart was pounding before, it’s really working overtime now. But, why? I feel like I’m in high school again.
“Hey,” I say, and our waitress stands up as if she’s going to have to take another swing. She’s impressive. “I just wanted to give you this.” Tucking my number next to the hundred, I can’t help but feel like it’s a dick move to make her associate me with the money.
Oh, well–too late to take it back now. Instead, I just give her a nod and make for the door, trying not to break into a run. If she says something behind me, I don’t hear it.
“What the hell was that,” I say to myself once I’m outside. We make a big scene, and I end up leaving the woman my number? She must think I’m as bad as the asshole who groped her.
“Your buddies got a cab, brother.” Whipping around, I see the bouncer who pitched us leaning against the wall having a smoke.
“Not buddies of mine, man.”
“That’s funny,” he takes a drag. “I don’t go drinking with guys that ain’t my buddies. Personal rule, man.”
“I won’t make the mistake of drinking with them again; I can tell you that.”
“What were you guys getting so tore up for, anyway?”
“We just settled a twenty-million-dollar lawsuit today. Celebrations were in order.”
“Twenty million?” The bouncer lets out a long whistle between his teeth. “You best have left one hell of a tip!”
“You better believe it,” I say, suddenly feeling like I should have left more. Next time, I will. Provided there is a next time.
Five
Charlene
What the hell kind of move was that? He just drops a hundo on me like it’s no big deal, then saunters off to leave me with this mess? And then–and then, he breezes back by and tucks a little note next to it? It’s like I can feel every inch of my body, and not in the good way. Nope, I can feel it in the I’m-about-to-explode kind of way.
It’s only when I feel my shoes getting wet that I realize I’m wringing out the dishtowel so hard that my knuckles are about to crack. All I can think is that my hands were clutching it like I was choking the life out of every snappily dressed prick at the table I’ve been slopping over. I can feel a huge “fuck” welling up in my throat, good and ready to drown out the DJ, and every conversation in the room.
“Why don’t you get on out of here?” Roslyn has materialized beside me just in the nick of time. She’s got a nose for a meltdown in the making. “I’d say you’ve had enough for one night. I got this.”
“Thanks, Ros. Sorry about all this.”
“This one’s not on you. If you want to apologize for something, maybe you could stop drinking on the job.”
“You saw that, huh?”
“Char,” she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Everyone on the block saw that. And, I’d say you earned it. Now get out of here.”
Yes, ma’am. Considering how high I was feeling when I walked in tonight, I’m feeling pretty damn low now. Even the sight of myself in the mirror before I change sends a shiver through me. Damn right, I look good. And all it got me was some drunk white prick grabbing my titty.
“Hard night, huh?” Jess is still standing with the ally door open, smoking like she hasn’t moved since I went out on the floor.
“You got that right.” Why doesn’t she put on a tight dress and get out there to hustle, instead of cool
ing it back here?
“Can’t be all bad, though.” She blows smoke out the door and points to the hundred-dollar bill still crushed up in my hand. I had almost forgotten about it.
“Jess, if it was five times as much, the night would still have been a bust.”
“Yikes,” Jess flicks the butt into the alley and pulls the door closed, she gives me a pat on the shoulder and heads out so I can finish getting changed. Now that she’s gone, I look at the bill in my hand, and zero in on the damp piece of paper crumpled up with it.
I smooth it out, and do you know what that dick left me? His phone number. So much for the quiet guy being any better than the rest of his jackass friends. Since there’s nobody else in here, I can finally let that gigantic “fuck” out of my throat. I’m sure they heard that out on the floor, but I can’t be bothered.
I fume the whole subway ride home and hope one of those drunk pricks is unlucky enough to stumble into the same car as me so I can break my high heel off in his ass. Getting hollered at happens to me every day, but God help the poor son of a bitch who tries my patience tonight. He’s bound to have a lousy time.
My apartment door finally clicks shut behind me, and I feel like I can breathe again. Plus, I’ve made up my mind. I’m gonna call this guy, all right, and tell him exactly where he can stick his hundred dollars. Just let me know where to send it, punk.
“Oh, damnit.” I’ve pulled out my phone to ream this bastard out, and I’ve got three texts from Reema. They pretty much all just say, “call me.” She’s a master communicator.
“What’s up, sis?”
“Any chance you can come over?” I can hear baby Layla crying in the background. Girl, I haven’t even taken off my shoes yet!
“Reema, I just got in and it’s been a lousy night. Can it wait?”
“There’s no food in the house.” Dammit.
“Well, what does Mama have to say?”
“Mama’s not here. She went out.”
I sigh. “I bet she’s not out buying groceries, is she?”
“I dunno.” How’s that for a straight answer? Every time this girl tries my patience, I just have to grit my teeth and remind myself that she’s only twelve.
“Alright, look,” I grumble. “I’ll have to hit a bodega or something, then walk over. It’ll be a minute.”
“Get mac and cheese.” Jesus, this girl.
“You’re welcome.” I hang up and feel like I could spit nails. How am I the one that’s catching all the shit today?
Reaching up to brush my forehead, I run into that stinking hundred again. Well, at least it’ll be good for something. I can get everybody fed, and not have to spend a dime of my own money. Thanks for that, I guess, Mr. Quiet Guy. What’s his name, anyway?
Smoothing out that receipt paper again, I get on a first name basis with the jackass. His name is Logan. Of course, it is. That’s one step this side of Chad.
My hand touches the doorknob to go back out, and guess what I hear? Rain. Just starting to patter against the window in the kitchen. Of course.
Well, you know what? Reema and little Layla are just gonna have to wait an extra five seconds, because Charlene is having a drink before she heads back out into this mess. One Screaming Orgasm wasn’t enough for this girl tonight.
Except… “Son of a bitch.”
There’s not a drop in the house. Well, Logan. Looks like drinks are on you tonight, too. Come to think of it, I’m going to have fun blowing this little bit of money.
Six
Charlene
Why is Jorje’s always closed? That place is directly between my apartment and my mom’s, which would make it really convenient if they ever decided to open their doors. It’s like I’ve seen the place open exactly twice, and both times I didn’t need anything. I should have gone in and bought something, just to be able to say I did.
The next closest place is about five blocks up, but I don’t have much choice, do I? Sure, I could head down to Ling’s and pick up Chinese, but that would only solve tonight. If mom heads out again, which I know she will, I don’t want to have to slog back over there again tomorrow night. Plus, I doubt Ling would break a hundred.
Times like this, I really wish we all lived in a suburb or something where I could just jog over to Wal-Mart and pick up any damn thing I needed. Don’t get me wrong, I love New York, but it can get exhausting having to get everything at the most inconvenient convenience stores in the world.
“Hi, Miguel.” He waves back, and I tromp my feet on the cardboard he’s laid down to soak up the rainwater. “Can I leave my umbrella by the door?”
“Yeah, okay.” Thumbs up it is. It wasn’t raining hard when I left my apartment, but it’s definitely picked up in the last couple of blocks. This is really turning out to me my night.
I’ve got to hand it to Miguel, his place is small, but he keeps it stocked. Knowing how my sisters are going to get down, I head straight for the frozen dinner cooler. The whole idea is to get something that Reema can heat up without adult supervision. Not that Mom provides a whole lot of that, anyway.
The cheap chicken pot pies have always been comfort food for me, so I know what I’ll be having tonight. For the kids, it’s all chicken nugget dinners. Mac and cheese, too–by special request. Since I’ve got the means, I grab an armload to fill up mom’s freezer.
That woman drives me absolutely crazy. She was sixteen when she had me, and still acts like it. Just some selfish little brat in a grown woman’s clothes. I suppose I ought to cut her a bit of slack, but I’m not in the mood tonight. Thanks to her taking off, I’m about to spend my night with two kids that ain’t even mine.
Reema and Layla are cute enough, I guess, but we’ve all got different fathers because mom never thought it was important to marry anybody. She just fucks around and has accidental daughters across a twenty-year spread. Like it’s a game.
“Whoo, I need to calm down,” I mumble to myself.
“You need help,” Miguel calls from behind the register.
“I’m good!” I don’t think I’ve ever seen him anywhere in the store but behind the counter. Why break the streak?
Now that I’ve got a dozen dinners stacked up, I’m starting to feel a tiny bit generous. A box of bomb-pops seems like it should make everybody’s night. Well, the kids, anyway. I’m going to need something a little bit stronger.
“Big night?” Miguel is smiling as I drop an array of microwaveable dinners in front of him.
“Getting bigger all the time.”
“You got company?” Why would I be feeding company frozen dinners at ten o’clock at night? This guy is crazy.
“Nope. Just filling up the freezer for my sisters.”
“Okay. That’s good.” He starts ringing them up, and I scan the shelf of bottles behind him. Why is booze so expensive in places like this? Because they know you’ll pay it, that’s why.
“You don’t have any Malbec or anything, do you, Miguel?”
“Malbec? No. Shiraz, Merlot, Cabernet. That’s it for red.”
“Alright, Cabernet.”
“Yes, miss.”
At the end of a day like today, it’s a blessing to find someone as agreeable as Miguel. I’m tempted to grab two bottles and leave one at mom’s. Hell, I’m over there more than I’m at my own apartment, it feels like. But she’d probably just drink it, so I’ll stick with the one.
“You need anything else, miss?”
I shake my head and hand over the hundred, crossing my fingers behind my back. Of course, he scrunches up his face. Come on, Miguel, don’t do this to me.
“This is a hundred.” Yeah, man. I know.
“The total is $68, so what’s the problem?”
He blows out through his nose and starts the elaborate dance of holding the bill up to the light and feeling the texture. This guy is killing me. All I can think is that the frozen dinners will be thawed out by the time I get out of here.
“I know you,” he says at last, “it’s oka
y.” He probably couldn’t tell me my name if his life depended on it, but I’ll take the familiarity if it means I get to break that lousy bill and get out of here.
Back outside, the rain has let up, and everything has that sparkly late-night look to it. Honestly, it’s pretty enough that I start to feel a little bit better. There are worse ways I could spend an evening than eating tv dinners on the carpet with my sisters.
If Reema hadn’t called, I’d probably have come out for some wine anyway, so why not let those little rats crack me up? Breathing in the cool, damp air, I tell myself that it’s a good thing I’m doing, setting them up with the food. Provided mom doesn’t come in and help herself to all of it.
You know what, Logan? Thanks for this. I’d much rather spend your money than mine on stuff like this. Now that your big-spender bill has turned into smaller cash in my pocket, it feels a lot less insulting.
Seven
Charlene
Standing on the stoop, I could find the button for mom’s apartment with my eyes closed. Considering how much time I spend over here, it’s ridiculous that I don’t have my own key. But I suppose if I wanted one, I’d have to pay to get it cut myself.
“Who is it,” Reema’s voice crackles through the speaker.
“Stop being funny and buzz me up. You know who it is.”
“Okay.”
The buzzer goes, and I push through into the hallway. The elevator hasn’t been working since I was a kid, so it’s up the four flights in wet shoes. These bags are weighing on me enough, and I’m glad I didn’t get that second bottle of wine.
Reema is standing with the door open when I get to their landing. Layla is peeking out between her sister’s skinny legs, wearing nothing but her diaper.
“Will you put some clothes on her? I don’t want to have to head out again for Robitussin if she gets a cold.”